


The Many Meanings Of The Word "Join"

by AkiRah



Series: Hold The Sky [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Darkspawn, Gen, Loghain is a bit of a tit, Ostagar, The Joining, The Wilds, casual racism against elves, lots of walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 14:54:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4568703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surana and Duncan arrive at Ostagar to prepare for Surana's joining. Getting lost at camp and surprise meetings with the King are the least of her troubles. Most of those troubles are Darkspawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning To March

Surana stared back at Kinloch Hold as Kester’s ferry took her away from everything she knew. The tower seemed to her the center pole that kept the tent of the firmament in place. She tried to dredge up early memories, but all she could remember was the floor of the ferry and a Sister’s hand on her her shoulder promising that this was for the best. 

The water rippled black and silver as the ferry glided away from everything Surana had ever really known. She bit down on her lip and reminded herself that there was nothing for her in Kinloch Hold any longer. Jowan was gone, Cullen was a templar. Irving would have done what he could to protect her, but as rumors of Jowan’s blood magic spread through the tower they would mutate and change and her name would be tied to the whole mess. 

Greagoir would probably lock her away in confinement for her own safety. 

Some mages went _mad_ in solitary. 

“You look troubled,” Duncan said as they stepped from the ferry to the dock. Surana fidgeted with her braid and raised her eyes to meet his. “You and the Blood mage were close?” 

“Jowan, and . . . yes.” Surana dropped her gaze. “I met him when they first brought me to the tower. He was my best and oldest friend and I had _no_ idea that he was a . . . maleficar.” 

Twelve years later and the word still stuck on the tip of her tongue as though she was a child just learning to swear.

“Do you blame yourself?” 

Surana shrugged one shoulder. She wasn’t sure if she blamed herself, Jowan, the Templars, the Chantry, Irving or all of them at once. She was only sure that it didn’t _matter_ any more. What was done was done. “How far is it to join up with the army?” She asked, willing the topic to change. 

“It’s a four day march from here,” Duncan said, seemingly willing to let the topic of Jowan and guilt lie for a while. “We’ll start in the morning.” 

Four days. Of walking. Surana balked, freezing where she stood and just staring at Duncan like he’d grown an extra head. He turned and chuckled at her obvious horror. “We’ll take it slow, I understand that you’re not used to it.” 

“Maker, I’m just glad I’m in shape. Or at least I _think_ I am.” In her opinion she had been fairly active. Not as active as the templars, obviously, but she walked for hours at a time, up and down stairs without running out of breath, she kept up when Rupert had lead her through exercises, they did have combat training. 

Mostly, though, she was a bookworm. 

But her hesitance at _walking_ to Ostagar was swallowed up by her excitement at being under the open night sky without walls or water keeping her in one place. She hadn’t been outside in three years, not since an apprentice had cost the apprentices their weekly visit to the courtyard by choosing that as the moment to try and escape. 

The light breeze that blew over the water kissed the tips of her ears and pushed her loose bangs in front of her eyes. She inhaled and tasted humidity and earth on her tongue, instead of lyrium and dust. 

There was nothing for her in Kinloch Hold any longer, but Ferelden was huge and Thedas itself even larger. 

She had to jog to catch up with Duncan as he pushed open the door to The Spoiled Princess. The docks were the lifeblood of the Circle and The Princess was the haunt of many templars who wanted to enjoy one night of drink after leaving or before returning to the Circle. She was quietly relieved that the inn was mostly empty. The bartender gave her a slightly confused look and opened his mouth to question her before thinking better of it and taking Duncan’s money for two rooms. 

These three must have been sent to hunt Jowan, she realized. Surana shifted uncomfortably as one turned his attention to her. 

“I know you,” he said quietly. “You’re the knife-ear that got Breckan re-assigned to Jainen.” 

“He was harassing me.” Surana squared her shoulders. “I reported him.” She held her head up, trying to make the most of her five feet and three inches of height and knowing it wouldn’t help her at all. Her hand tightened on her staff and she knew that _that_ wouldn’t help her. Not against templars.

“Now we’re off chasing _your_ friend. That maleficar Jowan. Shoulda known there was something suspicious about both of you.” 

“I didn’t know Jowan was a--”

Duncan was quiet for a man in full plate, Surana realized again. The templar who had been in the process of standing was stone still, his eyes drifting down to the black blade in front of his throat. “You’ve been drinking,” Duncan observed casually. “And that’s my recruit you’re threatening.” 

The templar looked from the dagger, to Duncan, to Surana and lowered back into his seat. 

“I understand your irritation, Gentlemen, but there are better places for it to be directed.” Duncan re-sheathed his dagger and turned his attention to Surana, who stood a little straighter and loosened the death grip she had on her staff. “I think it’s best if we took dinner upstairs.” 

“I--yes.” Surana’s gaze flickered from Duncan to the table of templars and she took a calming breath. Even if she was afraid, _being_ afraid served no purpose. “That sounds like a better idea.” 

She felt better when the door to the main room had closed behind her and she was following Duncan up the stairs. His armor jangled as he walked, in direct contrast to what she’d noticed both a moment ago and when he interrupted Greagoir to recruit her. 

“You’re . . . oddly quiet,” she commented as he unlocked and pushed open a door to his room and handed her a key. Surana looked at it, confused for a moment, and then realized that they would have _separate_ rooms, which made sense because there was only one bed to a room. 

“Am I?” Duncan looked vaguely amused at that. 

“For a man in plate, yes. I grew up around the templars, even the quietest would have had problems sneaking about the way you do.” 

“It probably helps that I’m not in full templar plate.” Duncan produced some meat pies and a small flask of wine from his pack, he offered her a pie and Surana took it with a smile. 

“ _Helps_ sure, but it doesn’t really explain it. Is it a warden thing or just something you practiced?”

“Practiced,” Duncan confirmed. “It’s a useful skill.” 

“I can see that. And . . . thank you for that.” She took a bite of her pie. The crust was thick and crumbly and crumbs clung to her lips until she picked them off with her tongue. “Dealing with the templars, I mean.” 

“I’m curious, what would you have done if I hadn’t?”

Surana choked down her bite and sighed. “Probably have taken the beating.” 

“You have combat training, do you not?” 

“Of course, but with three templars it wouldn’t matter. An area cleanse, in addition to blocking the brunt of my gift, feels like having the wind knocked out of you. Some mages actually vomit, others will pass out. Even if I’d been able to take _one_ of them out, it would have been inviting the other two to come for my head. If I’d _somehow_ been able to best all three of them, there’d have been considerable damage to the Inn and possibly the other patrons.” She took another bite and wondered if that had been the wrong response. “I’d rather the concussion. They weren’t going to kill me.” 

“You’re sure of that?”

“As sure as I am about the rest of it, really. Am I wrong?” 

Duncan shook his head. “No.”

“I understand that the Wardens are a military order,” she picked at her pie, crumbs flecking onto her robes as she did. “I’m not a coward. I just believe in picking my fights.”

“Being willing to take a beating from three templars isn’t a trait I tend to associate with cowardice, Neria.” Duncan’s chuckle was warm. “Foolish, yes. Cowardly, no.” 

Surana smiled. “If it helps, I probably would have tried to run first.”

* * *

They left the Lake Calenhad docks a little after dawn, Surana still yawning in the pale grey light as she leaned on her staff. Duncan set an easy pace, quicker than she would have liked, but one she could at least maintain, even with the pack he’d handed her to carry her own supplies in. 

“Is it common for the Commander of The Grey to travel to do recruiting?” Surana asked, side-stepping a pothole in the road. “It seems like you’d be better off staying with his majesty and the army.” 

“Perhaps,” Duncan said, “But I’ve known both Greagoir and Irving for many years and it was decided that I had the best chance of persuading them to send more mages for the army.” 

“Wouldn’t that be the responsibility of the king? Or general? Rather than the Warden Commander?” Cullen had once suggested a book on military strategy that had been dry, but interesting. 

“Usually, but we fear that this may be a Blight, in which case anything that could be of use becomes the job of the Wardens.” They stepped off the road as a cart rumbled past, pulled by the largest (and first) ox Surana had ever seen in person. She stared after them as they disappeared and then jogged to keep up with Duncan, legs aching. 

They made camp at sundown and had the fire started as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, presumably swallowed by the Amaranthine Ocean far to the west. They shared a small meal of hard tack and water with apples for dessert. Surana ate hers slowly, watching curiously as Duncan peeled his first and tossed the skin onto the fire where it sizzled and popped, making the smoke smell sweet.

Aching from the day’s march the moment she sat down, Surana pulled off her boots and started to massage her tender, blistered feet. “Am I allowed to use magic?” she asked, looking up at Duncan. “Outside of battling darkspawn?” 

“Within reason, of course.”

“Maker _yes_ ,” Surana sagged with relief. Pale green tendrils of creation spiraled out of her fingers to soothe and mend her throbbing soles and legs. 

Duncan chuckled into his water as she hummed contentedly. “Is that why you weren’t concerned about “taking the beating” from those templars last night?” he asked. 

“I was _concerned_!” Surana defended. “And, yes, sort of. Healing’s always come easiest to me. Not that I’ve _tried_ a simple healing spell with a concussion, it’s not the sort of thing we’re encouraged to practice.” She tapped a finger to her lips and then dropped it away and sighed. “And _now_ I’m curious if I can. Damn.” She looked back to Duncan, hesitance starting to root in her thoughts and twist the tip of her tongue back against her teeth. “It’s alright, isn’t it? That I specialize in healing? I’m not _bad_ at the rest of it, fireballs and lightning and ice and what have you, I just . . . prefer this.” 

“I’m more convinced now than I was that you’ll be a benefit to the Wardens, Neria,” Duncan reassured her. 

“Oh. Good.” 

“Now, you should get some rest. We’ll start again early tomorrow.” Duncan stood up and stretched before dropping sand onto the fire to kill the flames. 

Surana pouted and muttered an unenthusiastic “yay” in response. 

The fire doused, Surana looked up at the starry sky, bright and full and gleaming, and felt uncommonly grateful that they didn’t have tents. She lay on her back and tried to pick out constellations from the glittering hoard above her. 

They were easier to spot on the page. 

The night air was crisp and clean, tasting earthy on the tip of her tongue. Surana rolled to her side and curled her fingers in the dirt, feeling the sticks and grass and dead leaves that decorated the ground beneath her bedroll. She hoped it never lost it’s novelty. 

She closed her eyes, inhaled, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Her legs were impossibly sore, even after the previous night’s heal spell. Surana trudged after Duncan as they passed through Redcliffe village trying distracting herself from the blisters on her feet. She had gotten used to the dull echo of voices even in the quiet. The occasional explosion or shout was the background noise of her life. 

Out in the world things were all at once too quiet and too loud. 

Words didn’t echo and bounce and all told there was probably _less_ noise. But it was sharper. Shouts pierced through the air, uncontained and unpadded by bodies and walls and bookshelves. Gossip, prices, haggling, oxen mooing, children giggling and chasing one another in the roads. 

For the first time, Surana realized how _lonely_ the tower had been. She watched a little girl, stubby blonde pigtails shove an older boy and then take off at a run and realized that she had never played tag. 

Or really _played_ at all. She had studied and talked and laughed and she had been wrapped so tightly in the words of a fiction that she could almost taste the sweet salt of a distant sea. 

Surana dropped her eyes to the road and kept closer to Duncan until they’d passed through the village. 

Duncan’s hand caught her roughly by the shoulder and tugged her backwards, Surana’s bewildered yelp was cut off by the thunder of the cart that had almost crushed her. “Feckin’ Knife-Ear! _Watch the blighted road!_ ” the driver hurled the words like rocks over his shoulder. 

Surana blinked. “Knife-ea...right.” She reached up to fondle the pointed tips of her ears. “That matters out here. Rupert had mentioned.” She bit down on her lower lip. 

Duncan raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to keep walking and to explain as she did. 

“It doesn’t. . . matter, in the tower, as much,” Surana explained, tripping over the words and over a rock. “Occasionally some templar or captured apostate will spout slurs, but really the ears aren’t the problem. It’s the magic. We’re mages first, everything else is secondary.” She reached up with one hand to fiddle with her braid. “It’ll just take some time to adjust.” 

“If I can make it easier, let me know and I will.” 

She grinned at him.


	2. A Royal Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving at Ostagar Surana is introduced to King Cailan and sent on an errand to find Alistair, the junior warden who will be accompanying her as she prepares for his Joining.

Ostagar was, if nothing else, a majestic old ruin. Surana turned on her toes as she followed Duncan through the towering archway that had once held a mighty door, her eyes fix on the crumbling ramparts and trying to drink the entirety of the sight in. 

“Ho there Duncan!” A clear voice called out and Surana almost tripped backwards as she tried to quickly to turn and face the speaker. 

“King Cailan!” Duncan dropped into a bow, but there was something more affectionate (almost fatherly? Like the way Rupert spoke to her) in his tone than simple regal fealty. “I wasn’t expecting--”

“--A royal welcome?” King Cailan grinned, leaning in and putting Surana in mind of Ser Wiggums when he wanted part of her meal. “I was beginning to think you’d miss all the fun.” 

“Not if I could help it, your Majesty.” Duncan gave a small smile. 

“Then I’ll have the mighty Duncan in battle at my side! Glorious!” Cailan laughed. He had a kind, open face well suited to smiling and he turned it to her. “The other Wardens said you’d found a promising new recruit, is this she?” 

Surana smiled automatically in return as before dropping into a curtsey memorized from the occasional dancing lessons that broke up life’s monotony. 

“Yes, your majesty. Allow me to introduc--”

“No need to be so formal, Duncan, we’ll be shedding blood together soon enough.” Cailan chuckled and extended his hand to Surana, inviting her to stand. “Ho there friend, Might I know your name?” 

“Neria.” She wondered if there was an actual _protocol_ for giving one’s name to a king.“Surana, your Majesty.” 

“Well met, I understand the Grey Wardens are desperate to bolster their numbers and I, for one, am glad to help them. I understand you hail from the Circle of Magi, I trust you have some spells to help us in the coming battle?”

“I do, your majesty, though I’m primarily a healer. I’ll do my best in any way I can.” 

“I’m glad to here it. We have too few mages and too few healers, another is always welcome.” Cailan placed a hand on his chest and gave a small incline of his head. “Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Ostagar. The Wardens will benefit greatly with you in their ranks.” 

“You’re too kind.”

Cailan’s eyes actually twinkled. Surana had assumed that to be strictly euphemism when referring to humans. But there they were, ice blue and _twinkling_ as he dropped his hand and gave Duncan a lazy smile. “Now, I’m sorry to cut this short but I really must return to my tent. Loghain waits eagerly to bore me with more strategy.” 

“Your Uncle sends his greetings and reminds you that Redcliffe forces could be here in a--”

“Ha!” Cailan snorted. “Eamon just wants in on the glory. We’ve won three battles against these monsters already and tomorrow will be no different.” 

Surana furrowed her brow and looked up at Duncan. “I hadn’t realized things were going so well.” 

“I’m not even sure this _is_ a true Blight.” Cailan mourned. “There have been plenty of Darkspawn on the field, but we haven’t seen any sign of an archdemon.” 

“Disappointed, Your Majesty?” Duncan asked. 

“I’d hoped for a great battle like in the tales! The king riding into combat against an archdemon with the grey wardens by his side.” Cailan had turned from them to stare wistfully at the mountain top. It all felt almost _staged_ to Surana, who had been taught subtlety out of necessity. “But,” Cailan’s shoulders dropped. “I suppose this will have to do.” He turned back to them and gave Surana a playful wink before sighing loudly to Duncan. “Now, I really must leave before Loghain sends out a search party. Farewell Duncan, pleasure to meet you, Neria.” 

Surana watched Cailan and his escort as they headed back towards the main camp, her head tilted to the side because everything that had just happened seemed. . . off. Cailan didn’t strike her as an idiot, but everything he’d said had been boyish idealism at it’s finest. The sort that most men outgrew in their teenage years, the King was twenty-five. 

She looked back to Duncan who gestured towards the bridge they would need to cross to get to camp. “What the king said is true. They’ve won several battles against the darkspawn here,” he explained as she fell into step beside him. 

“Yet you don’t seem reassured.” 

“ _Despite_ the victories, the darkspawn horde grows larger everyday and by now they look to outnumber us. I know there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on my feeling.” 

“Why not?” The question was out of her mouth before she could think better of it. “He seems to regard the Grey Wardens highly. You in particular.” 

Duncan sighed at that. “Not enough to wait for warden reinforcements from Orlais. Cailan believes our legend alone makes him invincible, but there are too few wardens in Ferelden. We must look to Teryn Loghain to make up the difference. To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay.” 

“A hot meal might be nice first,” Surana pointed out. Her legs were still aching and her stomach rumbled for something with more flavor than the hard tack she and Duncan had survived on in the four days since leaving the tower. 

She was rewarded with a rumbling chuckle and a nod from Duncan. “I agree, we have until nightfall to begin the ritual.” 

“What _is_ this ritual?”

“Every Grey Warden goes through a secret ritual we call _The Joining_. The ritual is brief, but some preparation is required. We must begin soon.” 

She frowned at that because it told her _nothing_ and a lifetime of scholarly pursuit had taught her to _keep asking_ until an answer was gained. “Why is it secret.” 

Duncan sighed. “The Joining is dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary.” 

That was _more_ of an answer at least, and so Surana would accept it. She linked her fingers behind her back and looked out over the edge of the bridge to the clear blue sky and the wilds expanding far beyond the crumbling fortress walls. “Am I the only recruit you have?” 

“No,” Duncan shook his head, “there are two other recruits here already, they’ve been waiting for us to arrive.” 

“What do you need me to do then?”

“Feel free to explore the camp, I only ask that you don’t leave it for the time being. There’s another Grey Warden by the name of Alistair, seek him out when you’re ready and tell him it’s time to summon the other recruits then join me at the Grey Warden tent.” 

“ _Join_ ,” Surana giggled. 

“Yes, you two are going to get along _wonderfully_ ,” Duncan sighed. “Now, excuse me, I have some business to attend to.” 

Surana nodded and watched him leave. She reached up and tugged the ribbon on her braid tighter, taking a deep breath. Free to explore the camp. She’d never been free to explore anything before. She rocked, almost anxious, on the balls of her feet. 

Food. The first thing she wanted was _food_

* * *

She avoided the mage’s encampment out of a sense of guilt and a greater desire not to garner the attention of the templars stationed around it. For the most part the older mages wouldn’t have recognized her, as she had been an apprentice less than a week ago, but some of the templars _might_ have and she wasn’t looking forward to explaining that she wasn’t an apostate, she was a warden (warden-recruit) and the story of how that had happened. 

She recognized Senior Enchanters Wynne and Uldred, of course, but they both seemed busy. 

Busy and surrounded by templars. 

If there was _one_ nice thing about being a warden (other than the fresh air and being _free to explore the camp_ ) it was the lack of templars breathing down her neck. 

She asked a guard about Warden Alistair and was directed vaguely northward and told “I think he was running a message to the mages.”

She learned abruptly that growing up in a circle had done nothing for her sense of direction. “Good thing Rutherford’s not here,” she huffed under her breath, trying to figure out if that was the _same_ blue and yellow tent she’d passed a moment ago. “ _What’s the matter, Neria. The encampment is mostly a_ Circle.” 

Admittedly, her Cullen impersonation needed work. If she ever saw him again she’d improve on it. 

The realization that that was unlikely stung more than she wanted to admit. 

“You there! Elf! Where’s my armor? And why are you dressed so preposterous--Oi! I’m talking to _you_ knife-ear.” 

Surana stopped mid step and turned to stare at the balding man shouting at her, apparently. 

“Because I’m here to become a Grey Warden?” she replied, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. She had almost forgotten that people out _here_ were more likely to comment on her ears than her staff. It would have been almost refreshing if it hadn’t been actively insulting. 

The stumbling, stuttering apology and attempt at an explanation that it was all just _so_ hectic and there were _so many_ elves running around was at least amusing. Surana drummed her left fingers on her right bicep and looked as unamused as possible while he groveled. 

“Perhaps you should treat your servants more kindly,” she suggested. 

“Yes. Yes. You’re, you’re very right,” he said in the voice of a man who was going to do no such thing. “Did you… come for some supplies, perhaps?” 

“What sort of supplies do you have?” She was hoping for food. Something tasty and hot. Maybe even a sweet. 

“Arms and armor for the most part. It’s for the King’s men, but you Grey Wardens can by what you need at a modest price.” She must have visibly deflated because the quartermaster looked from side to side and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I also have some . . . goods on the side I can provide. Strictly off record, of course. To keep morale up.” 

_That’s_ something _at least,_ whispered a rebellious voice in the back of her head, long smothered by the watchful glares of the templars. 

Surana’s smile widened. “Let me see your other wares.”

* * *

“Haven’t the Grey Wardens asked _enough_ of the circle?” The familiar voice is what _first_ drew Surana’s attention to the argument. The mage, a man by the name of Darren whom she had never really gotten along with, was glaring daggers at a young man with blond hair and a smirk that reminded her immediately of King Cailan. Probably because it fit his face nicely and the king had been the most recent person she’d seen _really_ smiling. 

“Peace, Ser Mage, I’m just delivering a message. From the Revered Mother. She desires your presence.” 

“What her Reverence _desires_ is of no importance to me.” Darren huffed.

“Should I have asked her to write a note?” 

Surana snorted a laugh and quickly tried to cover up by coughing and looking away. The young man had a warden shield strapped to his back marking him as _probably_ Alistair, the warden she was supposed to be looking for. 

“I will not be harassed in this manner!” Darren shouted. 

“Riiiiiight, I was harassing you, by delivering a message.” 

“Your glibness does you no credit.” 

“And here I thought we were getting along so well! I was even going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one.” 

“Enough.” Darren huffed. “I will speak to the woman if I _must_ get out of my way, Fool.” 

He stormed passed Surana and she stepped nimbly out of his way, still trying not to laugh as she caught eyes with (presumably) Alistair. He chuckled and shrugged both shoulders with comic amiability before sighing. “One night thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” 

Surana snorted again. “I know _exactly_ what you mean.” 

“It’s like a party; we could all join together and hold hands.” Alistair laughed. “ _That_ would give the darkspawn something to think about.” 

“I think it would give us _all_ something to think about, really. Particularly if we started singing.” 

“Maker, right? Wait, we haven’t met, have we?” Alistair tilted his head a little bit. “I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?” 

And there it was. She gave an apologetic smile learned from years of having her _curse_ commented on. “I am indeed another mage.” 

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised. “You don’t look like a mage.” 

Surana looked at the _staff_ in her hand and then back at him. 

“Uh. That is. What I meant was. Uh. How. . . interesting.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Wait!” Alistair smacked his own forehead. “I _do_ know you. You’re Duncan’s new recruit, from the Circle. I should have recognized you. I apologize.” 

She smiled and shook her head, free hand coming up to flip her long braid over her shoulder where she could play with it more easily. “And you must be Alistair.” 

“Did Duncan mention me?” Alistair (now confirmed) perked up. “Nothing bad I hope.” 

“Nothing bad,” she assured him. 

“As the junior member of the order, I’ll be accompanying you when you prepare for the Joining.” 

Oddly, that made her feel better. The only other “secret ritual” she’d experienced involved being dragged barefoot out of bed in the wee hours of the morning without explanation. Having someone who knew what was going on _along_ , even if he couldn’t tell her anything, was a vast improvement. 

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Surana.” She fidgeted with her braid. “Er, Neria.”

“Right. That was the name. You know, it just occured to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?” 

“Probably because we’re too smart for you,” she teased. 

“ _True_ ,” the left side of Alistair’s mouth hitched up in a smirk. “But if _you’re_ here, what does that make _you_?”

Surana chuckled in playful defeat and slumped her shoulders. “Just one of the boys?” 

“Sad isn’t it?” He shook his head with mock pity.“So, I’m curious, have you ever actually encounter darkspawn before?”

She shook her head, falling into easy step with him. “I haven’t, have you?” 

“When I fought my first one I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous it was. I’m not looking forward to encountering another. Anyway, we should get back to Duncan, I imagine he’s eager to get things started.” 

Surana nodded in agreement and fell into step with him as he started back the way she came, hoping that _Alistair_ knew where they were going because all the tents were starting to look the same to her. 

“So, that argument I saw . . . what was it about?” 

Alistair sighed and ran one hand through his short hair. “The Circle’s here at the King’s request and the Chantry doesn’t like that one bit. They just _love_ letting mages know how unwelcome they are.” 

Surana nodded in empathetic agreement.

“Which puts _me_ in a bit of an awkward position,” Alistair continued. “I was once a templar.” 

Surana instinctively stopped moving and had to force herself through the next step, resulting in a small tripping motion. _Another. Fucking. Templar_. It was that first day in the library with Cullen all over again only _this time_ she was allowed to be annoyed because while she should have assumed that a new face in the Circle was a templar, the first person she met in the Grey Warden’s should _not_ have been. 

She was cursed alright, and not the way the Chantry kept telling her. 

What she _said_ was, “Ah. Yes. That, that would be awkward.” 

“I’m certain the Revered Mother meant it as an insult --sending me as her messenger-- and the mage picked right up on that. I never would have agreed to deliver it, but Duncan says we’re all to cooperate and get along.” Alistair huffed. “Apparently they didn’t get the same speech.” 

“That and Darren’s just like that.” Surana flicked her braid back. “I remember him from the circle.” She was trying very hard not to reel about Alistair being a templar. Ex-templar. He was an ex-templar. She didn’t even know that was _possible_. “Anyway, I look forward to traveling with you.” 

“You do?” Alistair paused to stare at her for a half-second. “Huh. That’s a switch.”

* * *

Alistair was surprisingly easy to talk to. Pleasant and humorous and she could almost forgive him for being a templar. Almost. She carefully steered the conversation _away_ from topics like magic or the chant, focusing instead on learning everything he had to tell her about Duncan and the Wardens. 

His hero worship was _adorable_ and highly endearing. 

They were almost back to the grey warden encampment, Alistair navigating because Surana didn’t want to get lost _again_. 

“Hmm, this isn’t good. I’d hate to waste such a promising member of the breed.” The kennel master shook his head. 

Curiosity took hold and Surana walked over. “Something the matter?” she asked, looking past him and into the pen where a broad chested brown mabari was curled up, whimpering in pain and growling whenever the kennel master leaned too close to the picket. 

“Yes.” He studied her for a moment. “Are you the new Warden? I could use some help.”

“What do you need?” 

“Are you familiar with the mabari?” 

Surana nodded and didn’t voice that she was only familiar with them in so far as what she’d read. She’d only ever seen one up close once before, and it had been a puppy. The beast in the pen was bigger. Much bigger. 

“This one’s sick. ‘is owner died in the last battle and he swallowed darkspawn blood.” 

Surana wrinkled her nose in distaste, Alistair chuckled behind her. 

“I have medicine that might help, but I need him muzzled first.” 

Surana looked at the muzzle and then at the dog ( _dog_ , she thought, _that’s a small bear_ ) and then back at the kennel master. This was a joke, wasn’t it? The only animal she’d ever spent any time with was Ser Wiggums and he was a rather small cat. 

“I…”

“You should do it.” Alistair urged. “Poor thing’s in pain.” 

“Alright.” Surana cleared her throat. “I’ll give it a shot.” 

“Go in the pen and let him smell you, we’ll know right away if he’ll respond.” 

She swallowed and handed her staff to Alistair while she took the muzzle and the kennel master held the gate. The mabari looked up at her and rose to his feet, ceasing the threatening growl he had directed at the kennel master. She knelt down and the mabari took a step towards her. His eyes were clever and dropped away from hers submissively. Surana held out her hands for him and he set his head between them, allowing her to muzzle him. 

“Good boy,” she praised quietly, fingers scratching behind his ears. “We’ll get you better.” 

The dog whimpered and curled up, huge head on Surana’s knee. 

She smiled. “I have to go, boy. I’ll come back later if the kennel master will allow it.”

“Of course.” 

Surana slid out from under the mabari’s head and stepped out of the pen. Alistair handed her her staff back, looking gently starstruck. 

“Thank you. I should be able to give him the medicine now. Come to think of it, are you heading into the Wilds any time soon?” 

“I might be?” Surana shrugged. “Not sure.” 

“There’s a particular herb that grows in the swamps around here that I might be able to use to improve the dog’s chances. If you happen across it, I could use it. It’s very distinctive, all white with a blood red center.” 

“Andraste’s Grace?” she asked.

“That’s the one.” 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

“Good. In the meantime I’ll begin treating our poor friend.” 

The mabari looked up, yellow eyes pitiful and miserable and muzzle bound tight. Surana returned his expression with an apologetic one of her own before she and Alistair resumed walking towards the grey warden encampment. 

“So,” Alistair asked. “How’d you know that?” 

“I read about it.” Surana shrugged. “I read the entire _Flores, Atque Herbas Lucanesque Thedas_ as punishment after Rupert caught me pilfering his potion cabinet.” She ran her hand through her bangs. “Wasn’t a very _effective_ punishment. Some of what I learned was quite useful.” 

“Like that.” 

“Precisely.”  
“Why were you pilfering his potion cabinet?” 

Surana laughed. “ _That_ is a story for another time. It’s enough to say that one of the girls I knew had a rash.” 

Alistair laughed. “Right. Don’t want to know.”

“Trust me. Neither did _I_.”


	3. A Wild(s) Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana, Alistair, Daveth and Jory journey into the wilds to obtain darkspawn blood and the grey warden treaties.

The two other recruits Duncan had mentioned when he and Surana first arrived at Ostagar had done little but cement Alistair’s place in her heart as her favorite. Ser Jory was a polite man, rotund with a careful manner of speech about him, prattling on happily about his wife and unborn child with such wistfulness that Surana was amazed he wanted to join the Wardens at _all_. Daveth, on the other hand, was a rogue and she meant that in as many ways as possible, from the pick-pocketing to the leering at women and offering “happy memories” before the big battle. 

They shared a small lunch with Duncan by the Warden’s fire as he explained that their test, the preparation for the Joining, was to obtain a vial each of darkspawn blood from the Wilds. Alistair was charged with securing some ancient scrolls that were tucked into a chest in an old abandoned warden outpost. Surana was just happy there was a map to _that_. 

At this point, the mud clinging to the hem of her robes was preferable to Jory’s complaints that they had been tested enough. She kept her eyes on the road ahead of her, hand maintaining a death grip on her staff in case they were ambushed again. 

The wolves had been a shock, but easily enough managed after the initial panic. They were really no worse than the spiders she sometimes had to clear out of the stock room as “practical application” practice. 

Wolves, at least, did not have spider webs to get tangled up in her hair, though with that in mind, Surana reached up to wrap her long braid into a thick, messy bun at the base of her neck. 

“Ove--over here!” 

It was Surana that spotted the bloody mess in the road, grown men and a supply cart ripped to pieces, staining the soggy earth a deep rust red. “Shit.” She broke into a jog, startling Alistair and the others into chasing after her, Daveth loudly stating that it was probably a _trap_. 

Trap or otherwise, people might be hurt. 

She skidded to a stop in front of the lone survivor. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, a young scout bleeding profusely and dragging himself away from the over-turned cart and the disemboweled and ravaged corpses of his fellows. 

“Who--who is tha--Grey Wardens?” He turned his face up to hers and propped himself up on an arm as Surana dropped to kneel beside him. 

“Well, he’s not half as dead as he looks,” Alistair quipped. 

The automatic “are you alright” that jumped to Surana’s tongue was silenced with common sense and her limited awareness of tact. “What happened?” 

“My scouting band was attacked by darkspawn,” the scout choked out. “They came out of the ground... Please, help me! I’ve got to return to camp.” 

“We’re not far from the main camp.” Surana extended her hands to him. “We can take you back.” 

“If you just bandage me up, I’m sure I can make it on my own.”

“Are you sure?” She bit down on her lower lip. “You’re bleeding badly, friend.”

Alistair dropped to his knees beside her, slinking his pack off his shoulders to where he could get into it. “I have some bandages in my pack.” 

She gave him a warm smile. “I can do one better.” Her attention turned back to the wounded man. “I’m a mage. I can heal you with magic if that’s alright.” 

“Maker please. Anything if it gets me out of here.” 

Alistair produced the bandages and Surana’s fingers, charged green with magic, eased the scout’s pain and did some to stitch the wounds as she wrapped them around his torso. He stood gingerly, arm wrapped around his own stomach and still limping. “Thank you. I’ve, I’ve got to get out of here.” 

“An entire scouting party killed by Darkspawn,” Ser Jory breathed. He was white faced and his fists kept clenching and unclenching.

“Calm down, Ser Jory.” Alistair rearranged his pack on his shoulders and offered Surana a hand as he stood up. “We’ll be alright if we’re careful.” 

Surana raised an eyebrow at Alistair’s confidence, but didn’t say anything. Being a Grey Warden wasn’t going to be easy, it stood to reason that the initiation would be strenuous and frightening. 

“Those men were careful! An entire band of trained soldiers. How many darkspawn can the four of us slay? A dozen? A hundred? There’s an entire _army_ in these woods!” 

Alistair remained unfazed. “There are darkspawn about, yes, but we’re in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde.” 

“How do you know?” Ser Jory demanded. Surana opened her mouth to comment that _hordes_ by their nature weren’t _sneaky_ but figured that it wouldn’t do anything to calm the panicked knight as he continued. “I’m not a coward--”

Daveth snorted. 

“--But this is foolish and reckless, we should go back.” 

“Overcoming these dangers is part of our trial, Ser Jory.” Surana leaned her weight on her staff. “I doubt we’re the first recruits faced with such a task.”

“That’s. . . true.” 

“Know this: all Grey Warden’s can sense darkspawn. That’s why I’m here,” Alistair explained. “Whatever their cunning I guarantee they won’t take us by surprise.” 

“See Ser Knight,” Daveth gave Jory a cruel smirk. “We may die, but at least we’ll be warned about it first.” 

“That’s. . . reassuring?” Jory did not sound particularly convinced. 

“That _doesn’t_ mean I’m here to make things easy, however,” Alistair crossed his arms. “Let’s get a move on.” 

“I’m curious how you _would_ make this easier.” Surana asked, deflecting her general anxiety with humor. “How easy can hunting darkspawn in a swamp actually be? Would you provide a flashy distraction or...”

“Tie a steak to my waist and scream “come get it” while running?” Alistair raised an eyebrow and smiled. 

“Mmm, probably would have worked with the wolves. We should remember that.” 

“Does it _have_ to be me?” 

“Well, you _are_ our superior in these matters. It seems only fair.” Surana grinned.

* * *

Alistair _could_ sense darkspawn. The proof was in the way he moved, punching at what had been thin air behind Daveth and catching the genlock in the face as it appeared. Surana’s hand came up to her forehead and a blast of energy stunned three more genlocks. With their initial advantage of surprise forfeit, the monsters died surprisingly easily, the last one losing it’s head (and a part of its neck) to Ser Jory’s greatsword. 

Alistair produced three vials and both Daveth and Jory went a little green. Surana rolled her eyes gritted her teeth and made quick, if messy, work of filling them with blood. She tried not to look at the bodies while she worked. The stories about how _monstrous_ they were hadn’t been exaggerated. 

Genlocks were short, the size she pictured dwarves to be, but they had pointed ears and flat faces that opened into mouths filled with razor sharp teeth and were too wide. Like the pictures she’d seen of sharks. Their skin was putrid yellow green and they stank of rust and bile and sickness. She fought the urge to retch. 

“Careful,” Ser Jory warned, “they carry the blight in their blood. You get the taint and you’re done for.” 

“I know, Ser Jory.” Surana corked the third vial, wrapped all three in cloth, and tucked them into her pack, careful to keep the tainted blood away from her other belongings. “I wasn’t exactly planning on licking my fingers clean.” 

“I’d watch that.” 

“Daveth,” she gave him an almost sweet smile, batting her long eyelashes and linking her fingers in front of her. “You objectify me like that again and I will ask Alistair to close his eyes so he can’t tell Duncan exactly _why_ we are short one recruit.” 

Alistair didn’t say anything, but Daveth seemed to get the general point and mumbled an apology. Surana straightened, wiping her bloody hands on her robe and resolving to have a proper wash that evening if there was any feasible way to make that happen. 

In the darkspawn camp they found a lockbox for Missionary Rigby’s wife. Surana tucked it and his letter into her pack, thinking that someone would be able to send it off to Redcliffe, something nice to do for a woman who didn’t yet know she’d lost her husband _and_ son.

“Any idea where the tower is, Alistair?” Surana asked. 

“A ways to the west,” Alistair pointed, “at least that’s what the map says. It’s a little outdated.” 

“It would be, and swamps change.” She shook her head. “Maker, who thought building an outpost out here was a good idea?”

* * *

They found the tower, or what had once been a tower, guarded by darkspawn. Once they were dead, Surana paused to pluck the Andraste’s Grace for the kennel master. She brought the flower to her lips and breathed in the sweet, clean scent. Something nice in this horrible swamp. Something that would save the mabari she’d met. Something sweet. 

“Up to our asses in darkspawn corpses and you pick now to pick a flower?” Daveth asked, shaking his head and giving a low whistle. “Fuck me I’ll never understand women.” 

“Are you _always_ like this or am I special?” Surana retorted. She was tired and sore but at least they had found the tower. Now to grab the scrolls and head back to camp for dinner, a bath and whatever this Joining Ritual would entail. 

“Of _course_ you’re special, you’re literally the only woman in the--”

“--Hang on. Something’s wrong.” Alistair cut into their banter and the three recruits tensed for a fight. 

More darkspawn? 

“Well, well, well, what have we here?”

Not more darkspawn. 

Surana turned with the rest of the party and watched a woman descend the dilapidated stairs with the grace of an Orlesian empress. She kept her eyes on the party and if she blinked, which she must have, Surana didn’t notice. She was breathtakingly beautiful, ebony hair tied up and back, adorned with dark jewelry and raven feathers. 

“A scavenger? A vulture here to pick bones long since clean? Or an intruder, come into these darkspawn filled wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” The woman reached the bottom of the ramp and crossed her arms under her breasts. “What say you, hmm? Intruder or Scavenger?” 

Surana waited for someone else, nominally Alistair, to answer and then realized that all three men were too slack jawed and surprised to be any use to anyone. “We’re neither,” Surana settled on, leveling her shoulders and holding her head up, refusing to be cowed by some solitary stranger. “The Grey Wardens once owned this tower.” 

The stranger clicked her tongue. “‘Tis a tower no longer. The wilds have obviously claimed this dessicated corpse.” She strode into their midsts and then past them, seemingly unconcerned that she was outnumbered four to one. Surana made a note of her staff and was suddenly, and strangely, grateful that Alistair had been a templar. 

She felt like a traitor for thinking it. 

“I have watched your progress for sometime. “Where do they go,” I wondered. “What do they seek?” And now you disturb ashes no one has touched in centuries. Why is that, I wonder?” 

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair said, his voice low in Surana’s ear. “She looks chasind, there could be others nearby.” 

The stranger laughed and rolled her eyes. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” 

From the corner of her eye, Surana watched Alistair’s hand inch for his sword, his weight dropping in preparation to grab his weapon and swing, she’d seen templars practice it before, subtle motions to keep their opponents unaware that they were ready for the fight. Most weren’t any good at it. Alistair, actually, wasn’t very good at the subtle part. 

“She’s a witch of the wilds she is!” Daveth annouced loudly. Surana sucked in air through her teeth because she’d guessed as much from the staff but didn’t want it announced in case their new “friend” thought she was getting away with something. “She’ll turn us all into toads!” 

Surana took her eyes off of the woman to stare at Daveth because that was _childish_ inanity right there. Transforming _anything_ , especially _other people_ was exceedingly difficult and usually not worth it. A fireball was far more likely. 

“Witch. Of the Wilds.” The stranger repeated. “Such fanciful tales. Have you no minds of your own?” She sighed, disappointed, and turned her attention fully to Surana. “You there. Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.” 

Surana fell back on practiced manners. “I’m Neria Surana. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

The witch smiled. “Now that is a proper, civil greeting, even out here in the wilds. You,” and she punctuated the word to make it clear that it was a _privilege_ not granted to the other three, “may call me Morrigan.” 

“A pleasure.” Surana performed a very small, bobbing attempt at half a curtsy, at an utter lack of what else to do. 

“Shall I guess your purpose then? You sought something in that chest? Something that is here no longer?” 

“Here no longer?” Alistair narrowed his eyes. “You stole them! You’re some kind of . . . sneaky . . . witch thief.”   
Despite herself, Surana snorted. She covered quickly by clearing her throat and fixing her posture to compensate. 

“How eloquent,” Morrigan purred disdainfully. “Tell me, how _does_ one steal from dead men?”

“Quite. Easily. It seems. Those treaties are Grey Warden property and I suggest you return them.” 

“I will not.” Morrigan crossed her arms and shifted her weight. “For twas not I who removed them.” She brushed the air and Alistair’s threat aside with a graceful sweeping motion of her right hand. “Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.” 

“Do you know who removed them?” Surana asked. She took a step between Alistair and Morrigan, one hand back to keep Alistair still. 

“Twas my mother, in fact.” 

“Can you take us to her? Please?” Surana’s fingers brushed Alistair’s wrist and she tried to psychically convey that everything was fine. Templars were jumpy. Alistair may have only been an ex-templar, but jumpiness wouldn’t have helped _anything_. 

At least Jory and Daveth seemed content to fidget quietly and let Surana deal with this. 

“Hmm,” Morrigan nodded. “There is a sensible request.” She smiled. “I like you.”

“Careful. First it’s “I like you” and then Zap! Frog time.” Alistair warned. 

“She’ll put us all in the pot she will!” Daveth added. 

“If the pot’s warmer than this forest it’ll be a nice change.” 

Surana rolled her eyes and shot Morrigan an apologetic frown, shrugging on shoulder in the universal sign of “idiots, what can be done with them.” 

Morrigan returned the shrug with one of her own and dropped her arms from where they were crossed. “Follow me then, if it pleases you.” 

Surana fell into step behind Morrigan as they were lead deeper into the wilds. Alistair stayed at her side, tense and probably convinced that any minute now a barbarian horde was going to descend upon them, but he was quiet. 

Unlike Daveth and Jory who bickered about how Surana was going to get them killed and how if they didn’t turn back because of the darkspawn they weren’t turning back because of a strange woman, as they brought up there rear. Surana did what she could to tune them out and hoped that they were wrong about at least part of that. 

Morrigan lead them to a small cottage, maintained, but shabby. There was a little garden in front, growing plants that Surana recognized, some of which were certainly foreign, and an old woman kneeling down to tend them. 

“Greetings, mother,” Morrigan said, strangely formal for a woman addressing her own mother. “I bring before you four Grey Wardens who--”

“I see them girl.” The old woman cut her daughter off, straightened, and turned around. “Now, you’re not quite what I was expecting.” 

“Psh, right, we’re supposed to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair snorted. 

“You are required to do nothing,” the old woman raised an eyebrow and tilted her head as though sizing Alistair up for a fight and finding him not only wanting, but not worth the effort. “Least of all believe. Shut one’s eyes tight or open ones arms wide--either way, one’s a fool.” 

“She’s a witch I tell you! We shouldn’t be talking to her!” Daveth hissed. Surana considered paralyzing him. 

“Quiet, Daveth!” Jory got there first. “If she’s really a witch want to make her mad?”

The old woman laughed. “There is a smart lad. Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides. Believe what you will.” She turned her attention to Surana, the quiet intensity Morrigan had but with years of weight and practice. Surana could _feel_ her attention like water pressing down on her skin. “And what of you?” Surana took an instinctive step back as Morrigan’s mother stepped forward. “Does your _elvhen_ mind give you a different viewpoint? What do you believe?” 

Surana shifted uncomfortably, reaching up automatically to brush the tip of one long ear with her finger, unsure why her race had anything to do with anything. “I. . . I honestly don’t know at the moment.” 

“A statement that carries more wisdom than it implies.” The old woman nodded. “Be always aware. Or is it oblivious? I can never remember.” She shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “So much about you is uncertain, and yet I believe. Do I?” She looked off to the side as though confirming with something no one else could see and then nodded. “Why, it seems I do.” 

“Soooo, _this_ is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds?” Alistair asked, the smile returning to his mouth in disbelief. 

Morrigan’s mother laughed, her head thrown back and her belly shaking. “Witch of the Wilds. Morrigan must have told you that.” She brushed her hand against her cheek as though wiping away a tear and behind her Morrigan groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She fancies such tales, though she’d never admit it. Oh, how she dances in the moonlight.” 

“They did not come to listen to you _wild tales_ , mother.” Morrigan groaned. 

“True.” And suddenly the old witch was all business again. “They came for their treaties, yes?” 

She ducked into the cottage and was out again before Surana could open her mouth to say anything to Alistair about the strange situation they’d found themselves in _or_ express her condolences to Morrigan about the inconvenience and the fact that her mother was apparently out of her _mind_.

“And before you start barking.” The old woman handed the scrolls to Alistair. “Your precious seal wore off long ago. I have protected these.” 

“You--” Alistair cut himself off halfway through his prepared indignation. “Oh. You protected them?”

“And why not? Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them this Blight’s threat is greater than they realize.” 

Surana furrowed her brow in confusion. How could the threat be greater than the Wardens realized. Wasn’t stopping and combatting a blight what the Wardens _did?_ It seemed very unlikely that a crazy old woman living with her adult daughter in a worn down hut in the middle of a swamp would know more than an ancient order dedicated to defeating the problem. 

“Thank you for returning them.” Surana said instead. It was more important to get back to Duncan. 

“Such manners, always in the last place you look. Like stockings. Oh, don’t mind me,” Morrigan’s mother waved her hand to change the subject off of...stockings... apparently. “You have what you came for.”

“Time for you to go then.” Morrigan turned to go inside. 

“Nonsense girl.” The old woman snapped. “These are your _guests_ ”

It was comical the way Morrigan blanched. She dropped her shoulders, appropriately embarrassed and cleared her throat. “Ah. Yes. Very well. I will . . . show you out of the woods . . . then.” 

“Thank you.”


	4. Join Us In The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surana, Daveth and Jory undergo the Joining.

Sticky with blood and mud, the party returned to Ostagar. Surana was the only one who bothered to actually say _goodbye_ to Morrigan, but if she was offended it didn’t show. Once inside the gates, Surana handed the vials of blood to Alistair and took the flower out of her pouch, pleased that it hadn’t been crushed between Morrigan’s hut and the gates. 

“I’ll catch up,” Surana promised, “please assure Duncan I won’t be long.” 

“You got lost earlier,” Alistair commented. He turned his attention to Daveth and Jory. “I’ll go with Surana. You two head back to Duncan and give him these vials.” 

“Where are you two off to then?” Daveth asked, raising his chin nosily. 

Surana held the flower up. “The Kennel master asked me to find this, since I expect we’ll be busy after whatever this ritual is, I figure it would be best to deliver it now.” She lowered the plant. “I’ll be right there.” 

Daveth departed, following Ser Jory back to Duncan and Surana exhaled. “Also,” she confessed now that it was only Alistair, “if I didn’t get a break from them I was going to scream.” She smiled and shrugged. “I guess it’s part of the experience.”

“You get used to it,” Alistair chuckled. “That’s what Duncan says anyway. Not _entirely_ sure I believe him. You handled yourself well, by the way. You’ve never been in combat before?”

“I’ve had training.” Surana looked around for the kennel but inevitably it was Alistair who lead the way. “But the only practical application I was allowed really was dealing with the giant spiders that sometimes crawled up from the lower caves into the store room. The templars weren’t keen on letting us cast combat spells--or any spells really--willy nilly around the tower.” 

“That makes sense. You could lose eyebrows.”

“Eh,” Surana shrugged, “it wasn’t a Monday unless someone had singed half their beard off.” 

The kennel was a short way away from the Grey Warden’s fire, Surana presented the flower to the kennel master and peered into the pen where the mabari was still muzzled. He was whimpering in his sleep. Her heart broke for him. “You go in and pet him while I make this into an ointment.” The kennel master urged. “Won’t take more than a few minutes.” 

Surana looked to Alistair for permission. 

“We really should get back to Duncan _but_ ,” he smiled. “How could you resist?” 

“Can’t.” Surana admitted. She handed Alistair her staff and opened the pen. The Mabari looked up at her, his eyes hazy and chuffed a small bark through the muzzle. “Don’t get up,” she murmured to him, and to her surprise the beast obeyed. She walked over slowly and sat beside him, running her narrow fingers along his side to keep him calm until the kennel master returned and applied the ointment. 

Surana let magic flow from her fingers and into the dog’s side. Just a little something to help the medicine take hold. The mabari’s breath started to level and she could feel his heart beat strengthen under his palm. She looked up at Alistair and _grinned_. 

“He looks better already,” the kennel master offered her a hand up. “I’m sure he’s thank you himself, if he could.” 

Surana exited the pen and took her staff back from Alistair. “How long until there’s an improvement?” 

“A day? Maybe two? There’s enough ointment that he should make a full recovery.” The kennel master smiled. “Why not come after the battle and we can see about imprinting him on you.” 

Surana almost dropped her staff. “Do you. . . is that possible?” 

“Possible yeah. It’s likely he knows you’re responsible for curing him. A mabari is at least as smart as your average tax collector.” 

The question had been as much for Alistair as for the Kennel Master, but Alistair didn’t answer. Surana knew templars weren’t supposed to keep personal items and she’d _assumed_ it was the same for wardens but then again, a dog wasn’t an _item_ was it? And Mabari were war dogs. 

She hoped it would be alright. 

“I--”

“Come back after the battle and have another look.” 

“I will.” She nodded enthusiastically and then turned to walk towards the fire where she could make out Duncan’s silhouette. “I didn’t thank you earlier,” she looked up at Alistair as they walked. 

“For what?” The immediate confused suspicion is his voice was comically endearing. 

“Joining us in the Wilds.” Surana’s free hand came up to unpin her bun. Her braid fell down to smack against her spine, the weight comfortable familiar again. “I know you were assigned to accompany us as the junior member of the order, but still, thank you. I’m certain we would have died without you.” 

“Oh! It was uh, my pleasure.” 

They reached Duncan shortly after. He turned from Jory and Daveth, eyebrow raised to ask what had taken _them_ so long. “So you return from the Wilds. Have you been successful?” 

“Yes, ser.” Surana said. Alistair produced the treaties and the vials of blood from his pack. 

“Good. I’ve had the Circle Mages preparing. With the blood you’ve retrieved we can begin the Joining immediately.” Duncan nodded in approval and when that approval reached Alistair Surana would have sworn that he lit up, chest swelling with pride. 

Pride that was quickly dampened, but not extinguished by a thought Alistair apparently wasn’t going to voice. 

Surana bit the inside of her cheek and looked back at Duncan. “Maybe we should mention Morrigan and her mother.” 

Alistair nodded. “There was a woman at the tower and her mother had the scrolls.” 

Duncan looked interested, but not particularly alarmed. Surana wondered idly if he was _capable_ of looking alarmed or if mild surprise was all that came naturally to him these days. “Were they wilder folk?”

“I don’t think so,” Alistair shook his head. “I think they were apostates.”

Duncan sighed and set a fatherly hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “I know you were once a templar, Alistair, but Chantry business is not ours.” 

Surana felt immediately better. True, _she_ wasn’t an apostate (technically, but only, she realized, technically), but the general templar attitude to magic set her rightfully ill at ease. 

“We have the scrolls. Let us focus on the Joining.” 

“Yes. Of course.” Alistair nodded. 

“ _Now_ may we know what this ritual is about?” Surana asked. Nearby she could see both Daveth and Jory turn to focus on the conversation with greater focus. 

Duncan exhaled. “I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are. Fate may decree that you pay your price now, rather than later.” 

That, at least, explained the sudden dampening of Alistair’s spirits. The Joining was dangerous, clearly, so the wardens kept it secret to keep from discouraging possible recruits (like Ser “I’m not a coward but--” Jory). Unfair, and possibly cruel, but if the wardens were as necessary as Surana had been lead to believe, that she could see the logic. 

She held her head high. “I have no problem facing what is to come.” She was here now, there was nothing for her back at the Circle. Nothing she could _have_ in any case. Cullen Stanton “Talks About It Being Inappropriate But Still Stares At My Ass” Rutherford would always be out of reach and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t do to build her life around one man. Particularly not a man she’d have to keep secret. 

She missed him though. 

“I agree,” Jory said. “Let’s have it done.” 

“Very well,” Duncan turned to Alistair. “Alistair, take them to the old temple.”

* * *

They were given a moment to wash a change while final preparations were made and then Alistair escorted them to the old temple per Duncan’s instructions. Surana leaned against a wall and tried to keep from asking any of the hundreds of questions she knew she was about to have answered. 

“The more I hear about this damned Joining the less I like it.” Jory huffed. Surana and Daveth, in unison, turned to roll their eyes at the sky. 

“Are you blubbering _again?_ ” Daveth asked. Surana nodded in vague agreement. 

“Why all these damned tests? Have I not earned my place?” 

“Maybe it’s _tradition_.” Daveth snapped. “Or _maybe_ they’re just trying to annoy you.” 

On the one hand, Surana accepted it as nerves of the behalf of both men. On the other hand, their arguing was doing nothing to ease _her_ concerns about whatever secret ritual Duncan had planned for them. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled just as slowly. “Calm down, the both of you. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now and _certainly_ nothing that arguing like idiots is going to fix.” 

“I only know that my wife is in Highever with a child on the way! If they’d told us I. . . it just doesn’t seem fair.” 

“Would you have come if they told you? Maybe that’s why they _don’t_ ,” Daveth pointed out. “Wardens do what they must, right?”

“Including sacrificing us?” 

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would stop the Blight.” 

“Will you both shut up?” Surana huffed. “Daveth’s _right_ Jory. Stopping the Blight is more important than any of us.”

“You saw those darkspawn, ser knight. Wouldn’t you die to save your pretty wife from them?” 

“I…”

“ _Maybe_ you’ll die. Maybe we’ll _all_ die. If nobody stops the Blight we’ll all die for sure.” 

“You’re making an unusual amount of sense, Daveth.” Surana bit down on the inside of her cheek. “I’m not entirely sure how to handle it.” 

“I’ve just,” Jory exhaled and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hand. “I’ve never faced a foe I could not engage with my blade.” 

“Well, it’ll be a learning experience.” Surana crossed her arms. “Everyone needs at least one more of those.” 

“At last we come to the Joining.” Duncan proved to still be as quiet in his armor as he had been at the tower. Duncan held himself differently now, taller, more self-assured. She could see the commander now, beneath the grey warden. “The Grey Wardens were founded during the first blight. When humanity stood on the verge of annihilation. So it was that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood, and mastered their taint.”

Surana’s jaw dropped open. She thought about the warning Jory had given her in the wilds and the horrible diseased flesh of the genlocks. Her stomach threatened to flip. 

“We’re going to--to drink the--the blood of those creatures?” Predictably, Jory was the first to voice his dismay. Surana was quietly grateful. 

“As the first Grey Wardens did before us,” Duncan confirmed. “As we did before you. _This_ is the source of our power, and our victory.” 

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint.” Alistair added. “We can sense it in darkspawn and use it to slay the archdemon.” 

Surana made a conscious decision to ignore the word _survive_. The secrecy wrapped around the Joining had implied to her that it was dangerous, and this seemed no more so than her Harrowing had been. Clearly survival was possible. “Let’s get on with it then,” she said, and then offered a smile almost entirely to make _herself_ feel better about it. “Before I lose my nerve.” 

“We speak only a few words to begin, but these words have been spoken since the first. Alistair, if you would.” 

Alistair dropped his head as obedient and reverent as a child at prayer. He spoke softly, but the words carried and wrapped themselves up in Surana’s ears where she knew they would echo for years to come. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigiliant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice shall not be forgotten.” Alistair exhaled. ”And that one day, we shall join you.” 

The words spoken and the ceremony begun, Duncan turned and picked up a large silver chalice from where it had rested on a plain table. He offered it to Daveth first. “Daveth, step forward.” 

Daveth’s hands shook as he took the chalice and raised it to his lips. He drank and handed it back as he began to sputter and cough, doubling over to hold his stomach as he began to convulse with pain. 

“Maker’s breath!” Jory hissed, starting to back away. 

Surana started to move towards Daveth, wanting to help in anyway she could, but Alistair’s hand coiled into the crook of her elbow and held her back. 

The silent implication struck her like a blow. This was part of it. 

Daveth stopped shaking and went still. Surana squeezed her eyes closed and Duncan knelt to check for a pulse. He sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Daveth.” Then, Duncan turned to offer the cup to Jory. 

Jory backed away, his hand going for the greatsword on his back. “But, but I, I have a wife, a child. Had I--Had I known--”

Alistair’s hand tightened on Surana’s elbow and she was grateful for the contact as Duncan set the chalice aside and pulled his knife. “There can be no turning back.” 

“No! You ask too much! There’s no glory in this!” Jory had backed into the wall. Surana forced herself not to look away. Jory swung first, and Duncan parried, darting in and sliding his knife into the space between Jory’s ribs. He twisted upwards, killing the other man as quickly and painlessly as possible. “I’m sorry, Jory,” Duncan said. He withdrew the knife, spattered red with Jory’s blood and turned to pick up the chalice once more. “But the Joining is not yet complete.”

Surana swallowed. She looked at the bodies of her companions and then at Duncan, bloody and bearing down on her. 

“You are called upon to submit yourself to the taint for the greater good.” 

She looked into the chalice, the blood was thicker than she felt it should have been and smelled familiar underneath the rusty smell. She took a breath and raised the chalice to her lips. The blood was cold and thick, it slithered down her throat like a snake and torn into her insides, filling her with fire. 

She wanted to scream but no sound would come out. Behind her eyes she could see a monstrous dragon, blighted and purple with teeth too big to fit inside it’s maw. It looked at her. Looked through her. 

She forced herself to stare it down.

Then all she could see was black. She winced and screwed her eyes even tighter before she realized that they were closed. Slowly, Surana opened them and Duncan and Alistair came into view. Duncan had cleaned the blood off his face. They both seemed relieved. 

“It is finished,” Duncan offered her a hand and she took it, letting him pull her gingerly to her feet. “Welcome.” 

“Two more deaths,” Alistair lamented. “In my Joining, only one of us died but it was . . . horrible. I’m glad at least one of you made it through.” 

Every inch of her _hurt_ but she managed what she was fairly certain was most of a smile for Alistair to _confirm_ that she had, in fact, made it through. 

“How do you feel?” Duncan’s hands rested on her shoulders and his expression was kind, if worried. 

“Ow.” Surana managed eloquently. “Fucking _ow_.” 

Duncan’s smile was empathetic. “Such is what it takes to become a Grey Warden.” 

“Did you have dreams?” Alistair asked. “I had terrible dreams after my Joining.” 

Surana nodded. 

“Such dreams come when you begin to sense the darkspawn,” Duncan explained. “That and many more things can be explained in the months to come.” 

“There is one other part to your Joining.” Alistair reached into a pocket and produced an amulet that matched the one he wore. “We take some of the blood and put it in a pendant. Something to remind us of . . . those who didn’t make it this far.” 

He handed her the necklace and Surana felt its weight in her palm. She had never owned an amulet before. Silver with the conjoined griffons that represented the order embossed on the front, a reinforced glass vial with blood held between them. So like her phylactery, but something to be proud of, rather than ashamed. 

She handed it back to Alistair and turned her back to him, sweeping her braid up out of the way she he could to the clasp. The pendant rested comfortably on her breast bone. 

“Take some time,” Duncan said. “There’s a clean uniform over there and a basin to wash your face in. When you’re ready, I’d like you to accompany me to a meeting with the king.” 

Surana frowned. “What kind of meeting?” 

“The king is discussing battle strategy.” Duncan shrugged. “I’m not sure why he has requested your presence. The meeting will be down the stairs to the west, please join us as soon as you’re able.”

Surana nodded, feeling particularly overwhelmed. She walked to where Duncan has said there was a uniform waiting for her and washed her face in the basin provided. The uniform included pants which, she realized as she pulled them on and fastened the belt, were something she had never worn before. The belt had a knife and an arrangement of leather pouches, the coat had a long tail for looking nice, but could easily be looped through one of the belts if she wanted it out of the way. 

A junior warden’s uniform. It matched the one Alistair wore, but of a lighter material, easier to cast in. 

Surana exhaled and looked at her dim reflection in the water. 

“From this moment on,” she repeated, “you are a grey warden.”


	5. Ishal Not Fail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Surana are sent to light the beacon atop the tower of Ishal to signal Loghain's troops to charge. Unfortunately, things never seem to go as planned when there are darkspawn involved.

Surana arrived at the war council in time to watch King Cailan and a man she rapidly identified as Teryn Loghain (mostly because he was addressed as such) in the middle of a heated argument about waiting for the Orlesians. Cailan had his arms across his chest, a defiant tilt to his chin and the upper hand by right of being King. Loghain looked . . . mostly tired. And annoyed. Surana looked past them to Duncan, who indicated the place beside him with a small nod of the head. Surana moved around the bickering noblemen and took her seat just in time for Cailan to hold his head up triumphantly, declare that in _that_ case their current forces would have to suffice, and turn his attention to her and Duncan. 

“Are you men ready for battle, Duncan?”

“They are, your Majesty.”

“And this is the recruit I met earlier on the road? Neria, was it?” 

“Uh, yes, your majesty.” Surana tried to process that he had remembered her name. It had only been about twelve hours ago, she realized, and he’d probably been kept in meetings and not meeting _more_ new people, but it still struck her as very strange. 

“I understand congratulations are in order.” 

“Thank you, your majesty.” She managed an awkward bob of a curtsy and felt entirely out of place. 

“Every Grey Warden is needed now. You should be honored to join their ranks.” 

“I am, your majesty.” Surana drew herself to her full (if unimpressive) height and tried very hard to not let her face become the same deep pleased red as her hair. 

Luckily, before Cailan could offer any _further_ praise, Loghain rained on the parade. He scoffed. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan. We must attend to reality.” 

“Fine. Speak your strategy.” Cailin bent to look at the map and Surana tilted her head to study it as well. The books Cullen had suggested on strategy had paid off in this moment, at least, if only a little. 

“So, the Grey Wardens and I draw the darkspawn into charging our front line,” Cailan indicated with his finger. 

“Then you give the signal to light the beacon, signalling my men to charge from cover.” 

Surana frowned. It seemed to her that the best place for the King _and_ the wardens was to hang back and focus on the darkspawn leadership, the archdemon if possible. But then, she wasn’t a trained strategist, so she couldn’t voice an informed opinion in front of men who had been doing this their whole lives. 

“This is the Tower of Ishal, here in the ruins.” Cailan tapped the map with his thumb. 

“Yes.” 

“Who shall light the beacon?”

“I have a few men stationed there,” Loghain straightened and crossed his arms. “It’s not a dangerous task, but it is a vital one.” 

Something sparked in Cailan’s eyes. He made eye contact, very briefly, with Surana and then pushed off the table. “Then we should send our best. Send Alistair and Neria to make sure it’s done.” 

“I. . . I’ll do my best? Your majesty?” She hadn’t _quite_ meant to phrase it as a question. Or rather as two questions. But if anyone at the war council noticed they didn’t care. Surana was still trying to work out what message the King had been trying to send without saying. There was something going on that she didn’t know and it was . . . 

. . . Frustrating. 

“You rely on these Grey Wardens too much, Cailan.” 

“Enough of your conspiracy theories Loghain. Grey Wardens battle the blight regardless of where they’re from.” 

“Your Majesty, the toward and the Grey Wardens are unnecessary.” Surana startled to hear a voice she recognized, turning automatically to look at Senior Enchanter Uldred as he moved to get the King’s attention. “My mages--”

“Enough!” Surana avoided rolling her eyes as the revered mother predictably cut in. “We will trust no lives to your spells mage. Save them for the darkspawn.”

Duncan put a hand on Surana’s shoulder to keep her from jumping to Uldred’s defense, but it was Loghain who silenced the argument. “Enough,” he barked. “The plan will suffice. The Grey Wardens will light the beacon.” He turned to leave and Cailan gave both Surana and Duncan a truly dazzling smile. 

“I can’t wait for that moment,” Cailan declared. “The King of Ferelden riding into battle beside the Grey Wardens to vanquish a great evil.” 

“Yes, Cailan,” Loghain admitted, his voice softer than Surana had come to expect. “A great moment for us all.” 

Surana narrowed her eyes, something about the way he said it slid under her skin like greased glass. Her gaze flickered over to the King and if _he_ thought anything of what Loghain had said it didn’t show. Perhaps he hadn’t heard, wrapped up as he was in his fantasy of glory and triumph.

* * *

“You heard the plan,” Duncan said once they were back at the Grey Warden encampment. “Alistair, you and Neria will light the beacon.” 

“Wait?” Alistair raised an eyebrow. “You mean we won’t be in the battle?” He rocked his weight forward, ready to fight, or at least argue about it. 

“This is the _King’s_ personal request,” Duncan crossed his arms. “Without the beacon lit, Teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

“So, what? He needs two Grey Wardens up there holding the torch? Just in case, right?” 

“I agree with Alistair,” Surana commented. “We should be in the battle. My spells--”

“--That is not your choice,” Duncan cut her off. “If the King wishes the Grey Wardens to ensure that the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens will be there. We must do whatever it takes to stop the darkspawn. Exciting or no.” 

Alistair sighed in defeat and visibly deflated. “I get it, I get it. But just so you know, if the King ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.” 

Surana chuckled. “I think I’d like to see that,” she said shaking her head lightly. 

“For _you_ maybe,” Alistair conceded. “But it has to be a pretty dress.” 

“I can find a pretty dress.” 

Duncan just sighed, but Surana could see a hint of a smile start to tug at his mouth. “You’ll need to cross the gorge and head through the gate and up to the tower entrance,” Duncan explained, apparently unwilling to add anything to the conversation about dancing. “From the top you’ll overlook the entire valley.” 

“When do we light the beacon?” Surana asked, settling back into a more serious mode. Her nerves were jittery and she swallowed them down. This was her first battle, being anxious was normal for trained soldiers and she was only a week out of her apprenticeship. The tower had not prepared her for this, but she would be fine. It was probably for the _best_ that she was being put somewhere out of the way, even if she felt she could be more use with the bulk of the wardens. 

“We’ll signal you when the time is right,” Duncan looked fondly to Alistair. “Alistair will no what to look for.” 

Alistair nodded. 

“Alright.” Surana leaned her staff against her shoulder and reached up to wrap her braid back into a thick bun out of the way. “I know what we have to do.” 

“Then I must join the others. From here on, you two are on your own, remember that you are both Grey Wardens and I expect you to be worthy of that title.” 

“Yes, Ser.” Surana nodded. 

Alistair’s expression softened. “We will and . . . Duncan? Maker watch over you.” 

Duncan smiled in response. He gave Alistair’s shoulder a squeeze as he departed to join the main force. “Maker watch over us all.”

* * *

She hadn’t expect the darkspawn to have siege weapons, and really, unless the ogres counted, they didn’t. Surana was half-way across the bridge when a massive boulder slammed ten feet in front of her. The shockwave knocked her down, sending her head over heels but leaving her otherwise uninjured. 

She picked herself up and stared in horror at the blood streaks that painted the bridge, the remnants of an unlucky soldier, carried off by the projectile. 

“We need to get to the tower.” Alistair’s voice was a tether and Surana hooked herself to it and nodded. 

“Right.” 

The army ballistae returned fire and Surana and Alistair hurried onwards, dodging debris and focusing on the path ahead to keep from being overwhelmed with the chaos in the valley below. 

Ahead, near the gate that lead to Ishal a frantic pair of soldiers came charging towards them. Surana’s eyes went wide. “Help!” Came the shout. “They’re everywhere! They’ve taken the tower!” 

Surana turned to catch eyes with Alistair. He drew his sword and hurried towards the soldiers, Surana hot on his heels. 

“You’re--you’re grey wardens! The tower, it’s been taken.” 

“Taken? Taken how, man?” Alistair lowered his sword and Surana muttered a quick enchantment in the brief calm. The steel glistened with ice. 

“The Darkspawn, they came up through the lower chambers. Most of our men are dead.” 

Alistair looked down to Surana and then to his sword. He seemed taller in the moment, more sure of himself. “Then _we_ have to light the beacon ourselves.” 

“Y-yes ser!” 

“Come on!” 

The claim that the tower was over run seemed less than accurate as Surana fried her first before she even passed through the gate. She stayed near Alistair, far enough back to provide adequate covering fire and be out of the way, but close enough that both their backs were protected and if she was rushed he could get to her in time. 

And like that, they advanced on the Tower doors.

* * *

Corpses littered the first floor of the tower and she could hear _something_ coming from the main room. Growling, too soft to truly be audible, seeing as neither of the soldiers who had accompanied her and Alistair into the tower seemed to notice anything but the bodies of the men and women who had been guarding Ishal. 

She looked over at Alistair. He nodded and she knew that he felt them too. 

Surana pressed her index finger to her lips in a _sssh_ ing motion and crept towards the door as quietly as she can. Though graceful and light, she wasn’t a rogue and stood a fair chance of being detected. 

That was fine. 

She just needed to get one spell off. 

Surana took aim at the emissary as the darkspawn took notice of her and launched a bolt of paralyzing energy from her staff. The nearest hurlock loosed an arrow as the emissary froze. Surana reeled back as she was shot in the shoulder, having bought enough time for the warriors to rush the monsters within. She dropped behind cover and took a shaky breath, trying to keep from hyperventilating as she pulled the arrow out. 

It hurt. 

But it did not hurt worse than the Joining. Surana wondered if her entire pain-scale had been violently upset. 

She drained a potion and as the hole in her shoulder started to mend itself peeked above the barrel she was hiding behind and launched another spell at a hurlock, knocking it dead before its sword could swipe at Alistair’s middle. 

She started to move towards them, relieved as the skirmish ended. 

“Are you alright?” Alistair asked, eyes catching on her bloody robe. 

“Fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” 

His smile warmed for a moment before falling away to focus on the task at hand. “We need to keep moving.” 

“I agree.” 

They found the tunnel the Darkspawn had used to burrow up into the tower near the door to the stairs. Surana choked against the smell that rose up from it. 

“At least we know how they got in,” she murmured.

“If there was time I’d want to block it.” Alistair stared into the pit before shaking his head and moving for the door. 

“We’ll do that on the way down,” Surana decided. “We’ll have more time then.” 

“Agreed.”

* * *

They paused for breath and to tend their minor injuries at the top of the first flight of the stairs. Surana chugged a lyrium potion, admittedly surprised when Alistair held up a hand to refuse when she offered it to him. 

He must had taken his philter recently then. Philters and potions were different, she understood, but the nuances were lost on her. She knew that philters were more concentrated, but not much else. Templar secrets. 

“Maker’s breath!” Alistair shook his head as her fingers closed a deep cut on his arm. “What are these darkspawn doing ahead of the rest of the horde? There wasn’t supposed to be any resistance here.” 

Surana shrugged one shoulder and straightened, tightening her grip on her staff. “Well, Alistair, you could try telling them they’re in the wrong place?” 

“Right, because _clearly_ this is all just a misunderstanding.” Alistair snorted. “We’ll laugh about this later.” 

“You and I will.” Surana aimed her staff at the door. “I imagine Duncan will just sigh and roll his eyes in bemused disappointment. It seems par for the course with him.” 

That seemed to cheer Alistair up a little, at least. “You’re not wrong. In any case we need to hurry. Teryn Loghain will be waiting for our signal.” 

“I know.” Surana thrusted her staff towards the door and the blast of kinetic energy that rocketed from it’s tip blasted the door out of the frame and into the darkspawn that had been waiting in ambush.

* * *

They burst into the top floor where the beacon was waiting and froze in horror. Hunched near the beacon, its skin a deep, bruised purple, was the biggest darkspawn Surana had seen. A ogre, it’s horns ebony black and huge hands stained with blood as it snapped a guard’s corpse in half as though bone and sinew and flesh were nothing more substantial than dry twigs. 

“Maker that’s big,” Surana breathed, trying to keep from panicking. 

“Light the beacon!” Alistair charged. 

“ _ALISTAIR_!” The scream ripped, almost bloody, from Surana’s mouth. She fired a paralyzing spell as the guard beside her loosed a crossbow bolt at the Ogre’s face. The bolt bounced off its thick hide, but the spell took hold, if briefly. It was enough that Alistair wasn’t struck but its intial swing and could stick his sword into the back of its knee.

The ogre noticed, evidenced by the way it sent Alistair flying with a back hand. 

“Spread out!” Surana barked. “Keep its attention moving.” She glowed with green light and threw healing essence at Alistair. “We’ve got to bring it down!” 

They ran, Alistair darting around the ogre’s knees to hamper its movements, slamming it with his shield and Surana focusing on paralyzing it and healing Alistair’s injuries. The orge lashed out, catching one guard around the middle and ripping him in half, throwing the pieces at Surana. She screamed and dodged, rolling out of the way and throwing a bolt with enough force to knock the creature back. 

Back enough that Alistair could dart forward. He leapt, using the ogre’s outstretched knee as a spring, and brought his longsword down into its eye. The ogre gave terrible keen as Alistair ripped his sword out and slammed it into the creature’s throat, twisting to sever the spinal column. The ogre toppled to the ground, Alistair panting, but alive, on top of it. 

“We must have missed the signal. Light it!” 

Surana nodded and threw fire at the kindling. 

They could breathe. 

“Do you feel that?” Alistair asked, prying his sword free from the corpse. Surana swallowed and nodded. She turned just in time to catch an arrow with her chest. 

Then all was black.


End file.
